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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24776767">Bat Out Of Hell</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabeth/pseuds/lily%20rose'>lily rose (annabeth)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>piss!verse 2.0 [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Coming In Pants, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Incest, Incest Kink, John's A+ Parenting, M/M, Sam is sixteen, Semi-Public Sex, Sex in/on the Impala (Supernatural), Sibling Incest, Underage - Freeform, Underage Sex, Watersports, handjob, this means piss</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 08:35:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,862</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24776767</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabeth/pseuds/lily%20rose</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Sam figures he manages to hold it until they're on a highway in the middle of nowhere—surrounded by trees and no streetlights for miles—when the urgency in his bladder ratchets up to a nine.</i>
</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>piss!verse 2.0 [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1787341</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>80</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Bat Out Of Hell</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>And the Adventure in Piss continues! Where this ride stops, nobody knows... we just hope I finish it by then.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Sammy! We're back!" Dean says, opening the motel room door. Sam was dozing, but he blinks a few times to clear the crud from his eyes, and Dean is switching on the bathroom light. In those few seconds, just before Dean shuts the door—they do close it if John is around, and Sam can see their father finishing up in the parking lot through the open room door—Sam recognizes a heavy weight settling in his belly.</p>
<p>	He has to <i>piss</i>. Really badly. All that water he drank while waiting for them to get back has taken its toll—but Dean came back with John, which means the whole effort might be wasted.</p>
<p>	John slings his duffle over his shoulder, slams the truck door closed, and walks into the room.</p>
<p>	"Listen, Sam." He starts speaking as soon as he locks the motel room door, and Sam wants to point out he <i>is</i> listening, or trying to, since Dean's in the bathroom. "This hunt isn't finished, but there's one in the next state over. I need Dean to go and check it out."</p>
<p>	Sam comes to his feet, wincing as it makes the piss in his bladder slosh back and forth, so to speak, and glares at John.</p>
<p>	"I'm old enough. I want to go along." This is an old, old fight, one Sam has every expectation of losing, but he will not back down. Dean was going on hunts with John when he was younger than twelve, and on solo hunts by the time <i>he</i> was sixteen. Sam may not like hunting—someday he wants to do something else with his life—but he also hates being left out, as if he's worse than useless.</p>
<p>	"Sam, I think you should stay—" John begins, but Sam stalks over to him, stabbing him in the chest with his finger.</p>
<p>	"I'm going to go with Dean. I'm tired of taking your crap. You never did this with Dean; with him, you practically <i>begged</i> him to help you out." Unspoken is the fact that John apparently sees no need for Sam's help now that he's enlisted Dean into his crusade.</p>
<p>	And while Sam resents him like hell for that, for dragging Dean into it and indoctrinating him so that he thinks it's what he wants—Sam has doubts Dean would want this for himself if he hadn't been roped into it—he also wants to be alone with his brother. The evolution of their relationship means he wants to spend as much time as possible with Dean now that things have changed.</p>
<p>	And as long as Dean is willing to humor him in his kink—or until such time as Sam is genuinely convinced Dean likes it too, for <i>himself</i>, instead of just because Sam does—he wants them to be alone.</p>
<p>	"Dean can handle himself," John says wearily, as if this argument is exhausting him. Sam scowls. It might be, but it's also because he was just out hunting for hours.</p>
<p>	"If this is about me getting clawed up," Sam says, "you might recollect Dean getting mauled and clawed and acid-spit-on and so forth when he was younger than I am now. That never stopped you before." Sam is so angry, he can almost forget how badly he has to pee.</p>
<p>	Which is when Sam realizes the toilet flushed several minutes ago, but Dean hasn't come out yet—probably because he doesn't want to get involved in this ancient argument. Sam crosses his arms over his chest.</p>
<p>	"If you send Dean," he says, steel in his tone, "I don't care if you tell me to stay behind; I'm going. I'll just do as I please."</p>
<p>	"Sam—" John's voice is rising, his eyes dark, glaring at him. "You always do that anyway, don't you?"</p>
<p>	Dean opens the bathroom door, towelling his hands.</p>
<p>	"Just let him come with me, Dad. He'll stay in the Impala." Dean very carefully doesn't look at Sam as he says this, and while one interpretation of that could be Dean is humoring Sam and doesn't want to see Sam's reaction, Sam knows his brother. Dean is saying that to placate John, because he wants to be alone with Sam as much as Sam does, too.</p>
<p>	"Fuck. You too, now, Dean? Fine. On your heads be it. And protect Sam. If he gets hurt, I'm gonna tear a strip off your hide." John glares at both of them now, then stomps into the bathroom, slamming the door. Sam stifles his anger over the fact that John <i>would</i> hold Dean responsible—and he's taught Dean to do it too—simply because Sam was there, and takes pleasure in the fact that he <i>almost</i> won the argument.</p>
<p>	He knows it's an <i>almost</i> and not a <i>definitely</i> because he knows it isn't finished. John will make him fight for every step forward, no matter that he was exhausted enough to give in this time.</p>
<p>	Sam winks at Dean, who grins. If the hunt runs late enough, they'll have to get their own motel room, and Sam knows how Dean will pay for it: with the money from hustling pool. He's taught Sam how, but Sam is so often left behind—like an unwanted or overprotected child—that he's never gotten the opportunity to practice.</p>
<p>	"Pack up, Sammy, we'll escape this shitshow and travel the woooorld." Dean's teeth are so white, and his lips so filthy, Sam practically moans. But he manages to hold it in—and also not piss his pants, though he's at about a seven-eight—and starts throwing things in his duffle.</p>
<p>	In moments, Dean is geared up, Sam has his bag, and they're throwing their things into the Impala. Sam hesitates.</p>
<p>	"One second, Dean," he says. John is still in the bathroom—and that suits Sam's purposes in any case. He runs back into the room, grabs the empty water bottles from earlier, and stuffs them in his hoodie's pockets. Then he dashes back out, hurls himself into the Impala—nearly taking his head off, shit he's getting taller than Dean now—and closes the door, and then they're off.</p>
<p>++</p>
<p>	Sam figures he manages to hold it until they're on a highway in the middle of nowhere—surrounded by trees and no streetlights for miles—when the urgency in his bladder ratchets up to a nine. Just as they come into an area with streetlights, and a sign that marks the next rest stop as many miles ahead of them, Sam drops his hand on Dean's thigh—and God, does it feel good to be able to touch Dean like this and know it's not just <i>brotherly</i>.</p>
<p>	For so long he'd wanted Dean, and hadn't imagined Dean could have considered such a perversion—but now that he has, and they're fooling around, Sam's not sure if it's a perversion anymore. There's part of him that <i>likes</i> the idea of doing this with his <i>brother</i>. That gets his dick a little harder than normal, because it's Dean, and they share the same blood. He wonders if that's circling back around to perversion, but decides he doesn't care. He's just going to enjoy it.</p>
<p>	"Dean," he says into the dark as they pass between streetlamps. "I gotta piss."</p>
<p>	The light reflects off the white of Dean's eyes before they slide back into darkness.</p>
<p>	"Now, Sammy? But there's nowhere—" Dean stops, obviously considering. "If you piss on the Impala's seats, Sam—"</p>
<p>	"I won't." Sam whips out the water bottles he collected from the motel room earlier, slightly disappointed that he has to move his hand from Dean's muscular thigh. "I came prepared."</p>
<p>	"You planned this?" Dean sounds almost admiring, awed even. "Your dedication is commendable, Sammy."</p>
<p>	"I hadn't intended for us to be on the road," Sam says, unscrewing the cap on one of the bottles, "but John made a hash of my plans by coming back with you and insisting you had a hunt. So I improvised."</p>
<p>	"My seats, Sam, remember," Dean says, giving him another quick glance. Sam couldn't see it—it's too dark—but he <i>felt</i> it, because he and Dean have always been in tune like that, even before Sam's revelations or Dean's willingness to screw around with his little brother. Sam thinks—privately—that Dean probably doesn't care that they're brothers so much as he does about his vows to protect Sam. If he thought fooling around would damage Sam somehow, he'd definitely put a stop to it.</p>
<p>	Which means Sam can't ever let him think that. Which is okay, because Sam knows what they're doing isn't hurting him. Then his bladder throbs, powerfully, and the muscles in Sam's thighs clench to hold on tight.</p>
<p>	Realizing he doesn't have much time left—ten is too late, and Dean will kill him—he unzips his pants, aims at the water bottle—pressing his slit almost flush to it—and exhales.</p>
<p>	The first thing he notices—that he thinks they <i>both</i> notice—is that it's <i>loud</i>. The stream of urine hitting the plastic is loud enough to sound almost like a succession of distant gunshots, or the rushing of a waterfall. It pounds against the plastic, pouring out of Sam and rapidly filling the bottle, until Sam's teeth are clamped on his lower lip, his hand is shaking from holding the bottle and becoming aroused at the same time, and—fuck, it's almost full.</p>
<p>	Sam squeezes his dick, staving off the flow, and quickly screws the cap back on the full bottle, which sloshes in the dark. He can hear Dean, but not see him right now; Dean's breathing is fast and short, and every so often a slight hitch gives away the fact that Dean is not unaffected by Sam's performance.</p>
<p>	Sam carefully places the bottle on the floor and opens the next empty one. He repeats the process of aiming and so on, and holds forth again, piss arcing out of him and into the bottle—he's done this before, when he was younger, and it's not hard to do, though it's a little different now—and he's <i>becoming</i> hard, which is gonna be an issue if he doesn't finish soon.</p>
<p>	The spattering of droplets against the plastic continues to fill the Impala's interior with noise even as Sam continues to fill the second bottle. The stream is beginning to slow as his bladder empties, which he can practically feel deflating as piss drains out of it. And then, just as he was going to need a third bottle, it stutters, plips a little into the bottle, and stops. Sam's done.</p>
<p>	He puts the cap on the bottle, puts it on the floor next to the first one, and strokes over the head of his cock, which is crowned by a couple droplets of piss. He doesn't mind that though. He wipes it against his skin, feeling it dry against his fingertips, to be replaced by droplets of clear fluid that are much slicker to the touch.</p>
<p>	Dean would kill him for jizzing on the Impala's seats, too, so he has to be careful; he grabs his t-shirt with his teeth and holds it out of the way as he begins to pleasure himself, long, purposeful pulls on his cock that make him feel full in other ways, and aching to be just as emptied.</p>
<p>	They drive suddenly into a flood of light and Sam can see Dean as well as hear his hitched breathing. Dean's body is tense, his hands white-knuckling the steering wheel, and Sam, who is already starting to feel short of breath himself and like his body is veering towards an inevitable explosion, flicks his eyes downward.</p>
<p>	He knows Dean hadn't touched himself while he was pissing, because he would have heard Dean moving—yet Dean is sporting an impressive tent in his jeans, a thick, swollen ridge of flesh behind his fly and down his thigh. Dean is hard. No, Dean is dramatically aroused—it goes beyond the word "hard." And Sam knows for certain then: his little dramatics of his own caused it.</p>
<p>	Dean liked listening to him piss, maybe more than he even expected to. Dean's watching the road, so he doesn't see Sam's eyes when Sam makes his decision. He'll have to be careful—a car accident in the Impala will see Dean kill him, too—but he's ready to walk even more on the wild side of life.</p>
<p>	Because no one ever gets everything they want by being conservative, and Sam has a lot of wants—and the wherewithal to see them through.</p>
<p>	"All done, Sammy?" Dean's voice is hoarse, slightly strangled, as if he's never been this turned on or knew it could feel like this. Sam remembers that shower they shared—he'd already known by then that piss kink made his dick react more strongly to stimuli than anything else he'd ever tried had. Now, it looks like Dean's the same way, and learning this for the first time.</p>
<p>	"Not quite," Sam says, and slides his hand across the bench seat. Walking his fingers back up Dean's toned thigh, he settles the weight of his hand in Dean's lap, directly over his impressive erection. Dean moans, and this time it's his hips that hitch, a little choked movement upwards as he tries to hang on.</p>
<p>	"Not—"</p>
<p>	"Relax, Dean," Sam says, smiling to himself since Dean probably can't see it from behind the fringe of his hair. "I'll take care of you."</p>
<p>	"Sammy, wait." Dean sounds concerned, but his cock keeps jumping against Sam's palm. He's not going to stop him, but he does have some sort of reservations. Meanwhile, Sam's shirt has fallen from his mouth and his cock, covered by the hem, is making a damp splotch grow on the fabric. The feel of the material whispering over his erection is making his teeth grit because he feels so good he can hardly stand it.</p>
<p>	"Dean?" Sam encourages, when the silence stretches. In that time, Sam's boner becomes even more stiff and Dean's swells beneath his palm.</p>
<p>	"It's nothing," Dean says with a little humorless laugh. "Just, you're going to make me cream my jeans like a—" he stops. Sam can feel his body spasm, as he comes closer and closer, drifting out into the sea of orgasm—which probably waits just beyond this wave, Sam thinks, as he presses his palm down directly. Dean gasps, his hips come off the seat a little, and his whole body tenses.</p>
<p>	"Like a teenager? Maybe a sixteen-year-old, Dean?" Sam knows his diabolical grin is evident in his voice. But Dean's too busy coming to notice—or probably care. Dean's face, striped by a sudden streetlamp, is flushed rosy and twisted up in pleasure. Sam lets go of him, feeling the aftershocks of his orgasm throb in his fingers and echo in his own cock, then grabs himself to make sure he's aiming for inside his t-shirt before he spills.</p>
<p>	"Like that," Dean agrees minutes later, both of them heaving for breath in their seats. Dean has pulled over so that they can rest, because he couldn't drive very well after blowing his load so thoroughly. "Like you, except you, Sammy, are a demon child. I don't believe you would have jizzed in your pants even if I had been touching you back."</p>
<p>	"Touch me, Dean," Sam whispers, but they both know that if he does, they won't get back on the road for a long time—and this is a more populated area, it's possible the police will stop to see what's going on. The weapons in the Impala's trunk make it imperative that doesn't happen. "You liked what I did."</p>
<p>	"You figured that out, did you?" Dean sounds rueful, but he's laughing at the same time, raspy wheezes because he still doesn't have his wind back yet. For that matter, neither does Sam.</p>
<p>	"How much do you like it, Dean?" Sam asks, trying not to let on how important the answer is to him.</p>
<p>	"Enough to know if you stopped letting me touch you, I might ask some girl to try it with me." This is a backhanded compliment; Sam doesn't want to hear about girls, or whether Dean would go back to his old self if Sam figuratively kicked him out of bed—he usually wouldn't be able to do that literally, because they share when they're with John—but he can take the hint. Dean <i>does</i> like it. Maybe as much as Sam does, even. Sam is glad.</p>
<p>	"Dean," Sam says, holding his shirt away from his body, "I'm crusted with come. I need a new shirt."</p>
<p>	"I need new underwear, " Dean says in retaliation, but then he adds, "Sammy, I have to piss."</p>
<p>	Sam leans over and kisses the corner of his mouth, feeling the pliancy of those plush lips and going a little crazy from it. He rubs his hand along Dean's thigh again, inching closer to his crotch, then draws away.</p>
<p>	"Then you'd better drive fast, hadn't you?" Sam asks, lips curving wickedly in the rearview mirror.</p>
<p>	After which, saying Dean drove on like a bat out of hell would be an understatement.</p>
<p>END</p>
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